


forsaken words

by lauralal



Series: Inarticulate [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Poetry, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Poetry, prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-20 23:05:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauralal/pseuds/lauralal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are at the tail end of every atlas, just outside the edges of every map I’ve ever known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	forsaken words

You are at the tail end of every atlas,  
just outside the edges of every map I’ve ever known.  
I trace with my finger, plot  
latitude and longitude,  
but nothing brings you home.  
Nothing makes you real, breathes life  
into cartography.  
I kneel at the equator and pray to the sun,  
to whoever listens to forsaken words—-

Grant me one commodity, reveal to me  
one soul.  
Because I don’t know if you’ve heard,  
but this hasn’t been easy. It’s been  
hard hard hard.  
And I know you don’t dwell on the shards,  
but they are my story.

Let me tell you my story  
of two broken boys,  
of two broken brothers  
and the others who came and went  
and died,  
but the broken still stayed.  
Even after him,  
Even after burning grace  
and black wings.

  
Because presence is not a cure-all.  
Because all sure things shatter  
and he was the purest sure thing.  
Because honor and duty  
are suited men with a vendetta against  
happy endings.

And the worst part is that it was going to be okay.  
In the end, it was going to be okay.  
A white-walled, blood-stained kind of peace  
ruined in a way only I could manage.  
Only I could deserve.

  
With hands in the dirt,  
ripped shirt, pinked teeth and  
a broken everything

I  
ask  
you  
I  
beg  
you

Bring me a compass  
A direction called north  
New eyes to identify  
The start of him  
The end of me  
Draw me a new map  
With no edges  
A never-ending atlas  
of us—

I pray to whoever listens to forsaken words


End file.
